The shadow followed me.
It didn't have footsteps.
It didn't have breath.
But I felt it.
A weight pressing between my shoulder blades, cold and unrelenting, like an invisible spear aimed at my spine. I'd felt stares before—drunken, lustful, hostile—but this was different. This was the gaze of a predator who'd already chosen their kill.
And I was it.
I kept my stride steady as I left the courtyard, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder. Whoever was behind me wanted me to notice them. They wanted to taste my fear.
They weren't getting that satisfaction.
Valenport's streets twisted like the coils of a dying serpent. Stone walls leaned in close, choked by centuries of grime. The fog rolled in heavy from the docks, clinging to my boots and masking the uneven cobblestones. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the midnight hour—low and mournful.
The air smelled of brine, tar, and the faint copper tang of old blood.
I'm being hunted.
Not by some petty cutpurse looking for a quick coin. No. Whoever was on my trail moved with precision—trained, disciplined. They'd studied me, maybe even memorized the weight of my steps.
And they knew the truth behind my name.
Kael Draven.
Outlaw. Survivor. Soul Resonator.
Once a ghost in the war between kingdoms. Now, apparently, prey in Valenport's labyrinth of filth and gold.
My fingers tightened on the hilt at my side. The sword's leather grip was worn smooth, molded to my hand by years of killing. It would serve me well tonight… if it came to that.
But now wasn't the time for a fight.
Not when I didn't know who—or what—was after me.
Merchant Loran's voice came unbidden, gravelly and sharp:
"You need allies… and answers."
Easier said than done. In Valenport, allies were more dangerous than enemies. A smile could hide poison; a handshake could hide a dagger.
Still… even snakes leave a trail.
The market district was still awake despite the hour. It always was. Half-lit stalls lined the crooked streets, their vendors hawking contraband in low, rapid voices. Cloaked figures bargained in shadows, gold changing hands as quickly as lies.
If betrayal had a scent, it would reek like this place.
I made for the tavern at the district's heart—a squat building of cracked stone and sagging beams, its crooked sign swinging in the breeze. The air inside was worse than the streets: sweat, smoke, spilled ale, and desperation.
Perfect.
A bard half-sung, half-mumbled something in the corner, too drunk to remember the words. The rest of the room was a blur of hunched figures, muttering over their cups. Deals were struck here in whispers, contracts signed in blood instead of ink.
I slid into a shadowed booth, lowering my hood. My eyes swept the room, sharp and searching.
When I spoke, my voice barely carried over the fire's crackle.
"Anyone heard of a faction moving against newcomers? Someone with rank… and Soul Resonance?"
The words drew a pause from the next table.
A scarred man turned toward me. His face looked like it had been carved with a dull blade—cheek slashed from temple to jaw, one eye cloudy white. The other eye, however, burned with sharp amusement.
He laughed—a deep, humorless sound that didn't match the stillness in his gaze.
"You mean the Silent Serpents?"
The name struck something deep in me.
I'd heard it whispered before, in war camps and prison cells. A name carried on the breath of dying men.
The Silent Serpents.
Assassins without a face. Loyal to gold alone. Known for killing without trace—no body, no blood, just absence where life had been.
"They don't take kindly to outsiders," the scarred man went on, leaning closer. "They especially don't take kindly to those asking questions."
I didn't answer. Didn't have to. The glint in his one good eye told me he knew I'd just painted a target on my back.
I left the tavern without looking back. The night felt heavier now, the air colder.
The watching presence hadn't gone. If anything, it had grown more confident.
Then I saw it.
Movement ahead—a shadow slipping into a narrow alley, too deliberate to be chance.
I followed, silent as breath.
The alley was a slit between leaning buildings, the walls crowding closer the deeper I went. Lantern light flickered weakly overhead, fighting to push back the dark.
Halfway in, the figure stopped. Slowly, they turned.
The hood hid most of their face, but the eyes… those eyes were sharp and cold, with the unnerving weight of someone who knew.
"You're stronger than I expected," the woman said. Her voice was steel wrapped in silk. "But strength won't save you from what's coming."
Before I could reply, she was gone—melting into the shadows like she'd never been there.
I stood alone, the fog curling around me like the coils of some unseen beast.
One truth burned hot in my chest: my past wasn't done with me.
And if I wanted to survive, I needed to master my Soul Resonance—this dangerous, half-wild power inside me—faster than I'd ever dared.
Because the Silent Serpents weren't just hunters.
They were the storm.
And the storm had already broken.